


wink, just don't put your teeth on me

by ericdire (aarobron)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22970935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarobron/pseuds/ericdire
Summary: “You still mad?” Jordan asks, one hand coming up to grip the back of Virgil’s neck. He pulls him off like a naughty puppy and Virgil goes willingly, looking down at Jordan with flushed cheeks and bright eyes. His chest is heaving, breathing uneven, and Jordan has never, ever wanted anyone more.“Nope,” Virgil says, popping the p. It’s completely unconvincing, and Jordan raises an eyebrow in disbelief. That single expression is authoritative enough that Virgil backs down, rolling his eyes and shrugging petulantly.
Relationships: Virgil van Dijk/Jordan Henderson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	wink, just don't put your teeth on me

**Author's Note:**

> so, i started this back when we drew 1-1 with manchester united in october, but two days later i ended up in hospital and forgot about it because morphine is a hell of a drug.
> 
> anyway, you've probably found the correlation by now but liverpool losing = smut. it's my coping mechanism.
> 
> happy reading! feedback always appreciated as always xx

It feels a little bit wrong to be locked in a toilet, pinned against the wall, gasping and moaning, at _Old Trafford_ of all places, but really, Jordan can’t help but be smug about it.

Virgil obviously feels the same; he’s got a thigh shoved snugly between Jordan’s and his teeth are nipping at his throat, taking everything he wants and leaving no room for nothing else. Jordan is going to give him it anyway, but this reality is quite nice. He likes being reminded of the size of Virgil – the broad sweep of his shoulders backing him into a corner and the length of his body towering above his.

“You still mad?” Jordan asks, one hand coming up to grip the back of Virgil’s neck. He pulls him off like a naughty puppy and Virgil goes willingly, looking down at Jordan with flushed cheeks and bright eyes. His chest is heaving, breathing uneven, and Jordan has never, ever wanted anyone more.

“Nope,” Virgil says, popping the p. It’s completely unconvincing, and Jordan raises an eyebrow in disbelief. That single expression is authoritative enough that Virgil backs down, rolling his eyes and shrugging petulantly. “Alright, fine, yes. Can you blame me, though?”

“Nope,” Jordan repeats. He grins when Virgil huffs out a reluctant laugh and slides his hand along the length of his shoulders, pulling him in for a loose hug. Virgil kisses the hinge of his jaw, soft and chaste. “Atkinson was a bit shit, wasn’t he?”

“Just a bit. Don’t wanna talk about him, though,” Virgil says, but there’s an amused smile playing at the corner of his lips. He tangles his fingers in the hem of Jordan’s shirt, knuckles brushing teasingly against his stomach, and then ducks his head. When he speaks again, his voice is hushed and his teeth are grazing the shell of Jordan’s ear. “Rather talk about how sexy you look in this kit.” 

Jordan’s breath stutters in his chest and he smirks, grinding his hips against Virgil’s thigh just to see the reaction on the younger man’s face. “Yeah?” He asks, tilting his chin up – a challenge, one that Virgil won’t back down from. 

“God, yeah,” Virgil breathes, other hand slipping underneath Jordan’s shirt to grip his waist. His hold is tight, enough that it’s going to leave bruises in the shape of his fingertips, but Jordan isn’t complaining. “Makes your eyes look gorgeous. Couldn’t stop staring at you the entire game.” 

“Is that why you kept falling over?” Jordan inquires politely, like he’s genuinely interested, but he’s struggling to bite back a laugh. Virgil murmurs, _hey, fuck off_ , and pinches Jordan’s side before pretending to pull him away, but the older man doesn’t let him. “No, no, I’m not done yet. Tell me more about what you like about this kit.” 

“Can’t complain about these shorts,” Virgil says. He slides his hand down Jordan’s side until the tips of his fingers are dipping under the waistband, dragging the shorts down agonisingly slowly until they’re riding low on his hips, then brushes his thumb back and forth over the dusky hairs at the top of his thigh. “Nice and tight, aren’t they. Don’t leave much to the imagination – and, well. Any minute I can see your tattoo is time well spent, if you ask me.” 

“Sweet talker,” Jordan says teasingly, but he does stretch onto his tiptoes to kiss Virgil. It's hot and deep, slow like they've got all the time in the world, but they’re on a tight schedule. Jordan can't quite bring himself to care about it, if he’s being honest. “You trying to get in my pants?” 

“Is it working?” Virgil counters. His voice is low and deep, husky like he’s trying to restrain himself, and he slides his fingers down until his blunt nails are scratching through the coarse curls at the base of Jordan’s dick. He’s peering at the older man from beneath his lashes like he _doesn’t_ know that it works every time, but he must do. “The best thing about this kit, though… It suits you. Makes you look all cute and innocent. Makes you look like an angel.” 

Jordan levels his gaze at Virgil and smiles sweetly, but they both know it’s just a mask. It’s reflected in the liquid darkness of Virgil’s eyes, the way his teeth are worrying at his bottom lip. “Do you think I am?” He asks, somehow keeping his tone polite. The tension is unbearable. He feels like he’s seconds away from just tearing Virgil’s clothes off.

Virgil smiles back, but it's a lot more dangerous than Jordan's. His teeth are bared and he looks like he's about to pounce, and the older man's pulse doubles. "Let's find out, shall we," he murmurs, and it's not a question. His hand comes up to cup Jordan's cheek and he kisses him softly, for two (too short) beats, and then he pulls back with a contented sigh. 

He's still grinning when he puts his hand on Jordan's shoulder and presses down until he drops to his knees, but then the smile is gone, replaced by a dark look in his eyes and his mouth slightly parted. The navy shorts are doing nothing to hide the fact he’s already hard, and Jordan takes pity on him, placing wet kisses along the length of his clothed dick. 

“Still think I look innocent?” Jordan asks as his teeth graze at the sensitive skin just below Virgil’s belly button. It’s a rhetoric question, really; he doesn’t expect an answer, which is just as well, because Virgil is letting out choked off little moans every time his lips brush against his dick, like it’s too much to handle.

Jordan is only just getting started.

He hooks the tips of his fingers into the waistband of Virgil’s shorts and boxers and pulls them down, glancing up from under his eyelashes as he tucks them under his balls. Virgil is looking at him with wide, wide eyes, one hand hovering halfway to Jordan’s cheek like he’s forgotten how to move. “Or maybe I’m just – _your_ angel.” 

Virgil lets out a broken sob, shoving his free hand into his mouth to stop himself from making any more noise. It wouldn’t be good if the rest of the team heard them from the other side of the door – Jordan’s never wanted to please anyone so much in his life. Virgil finally gets himself back under control, dropping his fist, then curves his palm around Jordan’s cheek. 

“Let me,” he says softly, voice far too gentle for the situation. He sweeps his thumb along Jordan’s jaw, catching once or twice at the corner of his mouth. Jordan doesn’t need to ask what he means. “Just – let me, yeah? You trust me?” 

Jordan nods, because he doesn’t think he could ever say no to this man. He can’t take his eyes off of Virgil’s dick: it’s hot and heavy where it’s resting between his legs and the tip is shining with precome already, and Jordan’s mouth waters. He just _wants_. He wants so, so bad, that it’s making his muscles ache.

“Good boy,” Virgil says. He’s practically purring at this point and there’s a sweet smile gracing his face as he looks down at Jordan, so full of warmth that it’s overwhelming. His thumb slides over to Jordan’s lower lip, the pad of it just resting there while he waits for Jordan to open his mouth, and then he hooks it over his bottom teeth. “You look so good for me like this, Jord. On your knees and waiting for me to do whatever I want. So fucking good, baby.” 

The fingers of his free hand close around the base of his dick and Jordan's mouth drops further open of its own accord. Virgil lets out a quiet laugh, murmuring something about _so desperate for me, aren't you_ , before guiding himself in. He stills, just the tip of his cock resting heavy on Jordan's tongue, so he can get used to the feeling. His jaw is faintly aching already, because Virgil is by no means small, but he feels like he's been waiting for this all day. The precome is making him taste bitter beneath the familiar taste of his skin, and he flattens his tongue against the underside of the head just to hear the sharp breath Virgil takes in.

"You love this, don't you," Virgil says quietly, but it's not a question and it's definitely not taunting. Instead, it sounds like an awed statement, and he smooths his thumb along the line of Jordan's cheekbone before it rests at the corner of his eye. "Love being on your knees for me. And you're so good at it, too – you're definitely no angel."

He starts to thrust his hips in shallow, circular motions, forcing his dick deeper, and all Jordan can do is relax his jaw and let it happen. He breathes through his nose, focusing on the shine in Virgil’s eyes and the friction of his cock against his tongue, and brings his hands up to rest on Virgil’s thighs to steady himself.

“No,” Virgil snaps, pulling back until he’s barely in Jordan’s mouth anymore. It feels like a loss despite the fact they’ve only been doing this for a matter of minutes and his throat closes around nothing. “No touching, all right? Not until I say so. Hands behind your back.” 

Jordan does as he’s told, putting his arms behind his back and gripping his own wrists tight just so he doesn’t even feel tempted to reach out again, and nods once. Virgil smiles and it feels like Jordan’s won the biggest prize of them all when he cards his fingers through his hair gently.

“That’s it – see what happens when you do as you’re told?” He soothes, tangling his fingers in the curls, still damp from the misty Manchester rain. He starts moving his hips again, still shallow and not really doing an awful lot. There’s no way he’s enjoying this like he should be, because he’s holding himself back. 

It takes a few more minutes of the same before Jordan lets out a frustrated noise and pulls off of Virgil’s dick entirely, sitting back on his heels and staring up at the younger man. “Stop – just stop –” He manages to get out, although his heart is beating fast in his chest. Virgil probably won’t let him talk, but he just _needs_. He needs to get this right.

“What’s wrong?” Virgil asks, immediately concerned. He spreads his large palm across the side of Jordan’s face, properly cradling his head, and gazing down at him like he’s looking for something. “Do you not want this? Did I– did I hurt you?” 

“ _No_ ,” Jordan says fiercely, although it’s probably the wrong way to put it. He stays on his knees but lowers his gaze to stare at the three letters on Virgil’s socks, LFC burning into his brain until he sees it when he closes his eyes. His cheeks feel hot, shame creeping up the back of his neck, but he gets the words out anyway. “I want you to do it. _Properly_ do it. I’m not going to break if you put a bit of force into it, Virg.”

Virgil looks confused when Jordan glances up, a furrow between his brows that he wishes he could smooth away, but he resolutely stares down again, taking in the gorgeous curve of Virgil’s left calf.

“If you’re going to do it, then I want your dick down my throat until I can’t breathe,” he says quietly. His own dick jumps to attention at the very thought, twitching where it’s trapped inside his shorts. “I’m not some fragile little doll. Okay?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Virgil breathes. Everything finally clicks into place and he drops his hand to Jordan’s chin, forcing his head up until he’s looking at him again. The head of his dick nudges against Jordan’s mouth and he pushes forward until he loosens his jaw. “Yeah, okay. I can do that.” 

His hand slides around to cup the back of Jordan’s head, holding him in place, and the other rests against the wall opposite him – for leverage, Jordan supposes. It shouldn’t make his stomach twist with excitement, but it does, and he rises to his knees again as his mouth parts properly. Virgil smiles down at him, a little dark but mostly loving, before schooling his expression back into something serious.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he instructs carefully, but then there’s no room for anything else, because he’s sliding his dick steadily deeper into Jordan’s mouth. He doesn’t stop this time, just keeps going, although he’s paying attention to the tears wetting the corners of Jordan’s eyes. 

Jordan breathes through it, relaxing his jaw as much as possible and then his throat, but it’s worth it to feel so _full_. Not in a physical sense, either – Virgil is giving him what he wants but being so careful about not hurting him, and it makes his chest feel tight. He’s everywhere; the smell and feel and taste of him, and Jordan wants nothing more than to touch, but he carries on doing what he was told to. He always was a people pleaser.

“That’s it, babe,” Virgil murmurs. The heat of his hand on Jordan’s jaw somehow helps him relax even further and he gazes up into the depth of Virgil’s eyes, feeling more than a little spellbound. Everything about him is mesmerising, so mesmerising, and he doesn’t know how to get out of it. He doesn’t know if he ever _wants_ to. “You’re doing so good, Jord, so good. You’re so beautiful with your mouth stretched around me like that. So fucking sexy.” 

Tears start to sting at Jordan’s eyes, proper ones this time, and he lets his eyelids flutter shut as the tip of Virgil’s dick hits the back of his throat. He’s glad he can take it – glad that Virgil is letting him take it. It’s exactly what he wanted.

Virgil’s index and middle finger brush up from his jaw and the pads of them rest against his left cheek, but the movement isn’t innocent. As if on cue, he presses hard against where Jordan’s cheeks are hollowed, just under the sharp cut of the bone, and groans as he runs his fingers back and forth quickly.

“Fuck. I can feel myself. That’s so- _fuck_. Are you okay? More?” He grunts out. He shoots an alarmed look over his shoulder at the door when he realises how loud he was being, but relaxes seconds later, gentle gaze coming back to rest on Jordan’s face. Jordan nods, a stray tear slipping down his cheek, but Virgil brushes it away. ”Good – good. I’m gonna give you exactly what you asked for, considering you’ve been so well behaved for me.” 

Jordan can't help but whimper, dragged from his throat and making his fingers grip his own wrists behind his back. The vibration of it makes Virgil suck in a deep breath and his hips jerk forward at the same time. Jordan chokes when the head of Virgil's dick hits his throat and Virgil pulls away, murmuring apologies as the pad of his thumb swipes away the tears that have fallen from the corner of his eye.

He looks up, gaze meeting Virgil's, and hopes that it portrays everything he wants to say. _Keep doing that. I want more. All of it. Everything you can give me_.

It works, because Virgil stutters out a sigh and slides his fingers round to tangle in Jordan's hair. He studies Jordan's eyes one last time and then nods, a tiny thing that he wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't paying such attention, and Jordan braces himself. He digs his nails into the thin skin of his own wrists and shifts, knees slipping a little wider as Virgil pushes in closer. It's tantalising, the way the head of his cock drags further down Jordan's tongue, and he squeezes his eyes shut so he can focus solely on the feel of it and nothing else. 

Virgil's fingers twitch in his hair and then they twist around the strands, pulling harshly until the line of Jordan's throat is taut and his chin is tilted up. He opens his eyes and sees that fiery gaze, the one that makes him shudder, and that's all he gets before Virgil is dragging his hips back and slamming back in. 

It's so forceful that Jordan loses grip on his own wrists, and he knows that if it wasn't for Virgil's hand cupping his head, he would've gone flying back into the wall. It doesn't scare him, though. Quite the opposite, in fact, because the raw strength from Virgil makes his dick even harder, painful with the need to be touched - but he cares more about making sure Virgil feels good. That's what gets him off.

He takes a risk and brings his hands around to clutch at Virgil's thighs. His nails dig into the hard muscle there but Virgil doesn't even flinch. If anything, the flash of pain drives him on and he thrusts are sharper, shorter. 

He rolls his hips into Jordan's mouth and all he can do is hold on and take it, joints in his fingers aching from the tightness of his grip, scalp burning from the hand Virgil has twisted in his hair. He pulls tight every time Jordan swallows around him, head of his cock hitting the back of Jordan's throat, and loosens his grip every time he relaxes.

Virgil spits out quiet curse words, but they're muffled around him biting his own lip. Jordan can barely hear them over the sound of blood rushing in his own ears, but he lets the soft lilt of that familiar accent wash over his shoulders. It makes him feel safe, comforted, and paired with the beautiful heat of Virgil's skin on his - well. There are no words to describe it.

His face is wet, tears on his cheeks and spit stringing down onto his chin. His lips feel swollen and his jaw aches and his eyes are stinging and it should be disgusting, the pain and mess and _rawness_ of it all, but really, he's never felt more alive. 

It's everything he wanted and more.

Virgil comes fast and hard, in waves that steal the breath from his lungs. His spine curves and he rests heavily against the wall, fingers twitching in Jordan's hair. Jordan swallows through it, whines at the bitterness drenching his tongue because it's so intrinsically Virgil that it sends him crazy.

Back bowed from oversensitivity, Virgil eases away until his dick slips from Jordan's mouth. He's gasping for breath, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and he untangles his fingers from Jordan's hair to slide them around to his cheek. The pad of his thumb catches at the corner of his lips and then pushes into his mouth, brushing over his tongue. It tastes salty, like Virgil, the heady taste of him, and Jordan lets his teeth graze over Virgil's skin teasingly.

"You okay?" Virgil asks, voice soft and sweet with concern. That's just who he is, and it makes Jordan's heart swell in his chest. He nods, smiles up at Virgil, and maintains eye contact as he slides his hand into his own shorts.

Virgil looks surprised, breath stuttering as he watches Jordan curl his fingers around his dick. He's so hard that the first touch makes him hiss out a sharp breath, and he drops his forehead against Virgil's thigh, free hand coming up to cup the younger man's calf. He knows it's not going to take much; he's too wound up, from Virgil's skin and his taste and his strength and just- _everything_ about him.

He twists his wrist, thumb catching over the head, and gasps out. His breath is hot and damp when it bounces against the skin of Virgil's thigh and he keeps going, touching himself until his head is swimming. Virgil is gentle when he touches the back of Jordan's neck, voice awed and soft when he murmurs encouraging words. His gaze is burning into Jordan's skin, watching him like it's something fascinating. Something beautiful.

That's the knowledge that makes Jordan come. It feels like he's been waiting forever, but finally, his vision starts to fade to black at the corners and his jaw goes slack, struggling to hold the weight of his body up. It shocks through his veins, makes him gasp and whimper, and the only thing keeping his upright is Virgil's grip on the back of his neck. That's the only thing he can actually feel. Everything else is numb.

"You're so good, so good for me," Virgil says. It's barely above a whisper but it bounces off the walls, echoing like it's a shout. That's just because he's the only thing that's important to Jordan. "So beautiful."

Jordan tucks Virgil's dick back into his shorts. He's still half hard but he doesn't seem too bothered about it, just takes Jordan's hands and pulls him to his feet. He stumbles a little, then sways on the spot, knees weak from the force of his orgasm, but it's okay. Virgil tangles his fingers into the material of Jordan's shirt, bunched up at the waist, and pulls him in close against his body.

"I love you," Jordan whispers, hooking his arms around Virgil's neck and nudging their noses together. Virgil smiles, exhausted but deliriously happy. "Thank you for doing that for me."

"I didn't have such a bad time myself, you know," Virgil says, smile melting into a smirk. He tips his head forward and kisses Jordan, sweet little pecks until Jordan's head is spinning and he's forgotten how to breathe. "Next time you want to- just tell me, Jord. Tell me what you want. Be honest with me."

"Okay," Jordan breathes, nodding slightly. Virgil's smile turns soft again and he kisses Jordan's cheek, nuzzling his nose against the older man's temple. "We need to go, Virg. We've been in here too long anyway, so we need to go."

"I know. Don't want to, though," Virgil whispers. He pulls away just enough that he can look down between there bodies, loosening his fingers from Jordan's shirt to smooth it down. He tugs the waistband of his shorts up so they sit properly and then nods once, clearly satisfied that Jordan looks put together enough that nobody will ask any questions.

Jordan closes his eyes, huffs out a laugh and leans forward to give Virgil one last dry kiss. "Come on," he says, tangling their fingers, because at least they can get away with that. "Won't hear the end of it at this rate." 

Virgil unlocks the bathroom door and steps out, pulling Jordan along behind him. The dressing room is almost empty, which is a surprise in itself - how long were they actually _in there_? - and the only stragglers left are Trent and James, deep in discussion on the corner section of bench.

"Took your time," James says, smirking slightly. Trent looks nothing more than horrified next to him, tips of his ears bright red as he stares down at the floor. Virgil makes a move like he's going to say something, but one sharp tug on his hand from Jordan has him backing down. "I mean, I'm sure there are worse places to do it than Old Trafford toilets, but it wouldn't be my personal choice for a dirty half hour alone."

"We didn't _do it_ ," Jordan mutters, although what they did was close enough, really. Still, their friends don't need to know that.

"Can you please just shut up," Trent says, sounding slightly traumatised and looking more than pale. He looks up at Jordan once and then back down at his hands when he catches Virgil's smirk from the corner of his eye. "I really don't want to hear what you two get up to in your free time. Can we just get on the bus, please?"

James stands and lets the rest of them follow, walking side by side with Trent. They've gone back to their quiet conversation, and Jordan isn't sure whether it's for his sake or not, but he mentally thanks James, anyway. It's nice to not be scrutinised - even if they probably do deserve it. 

"Feeling better after that game, then?" Jordan asks. He can't stop his cheeks from heating up slightly when Virgil hooks an arm around his neck and pulls him tight against his side, walking in sync.

"Much better," Virgil murmurs. He's still smirking but the lines around his eyes are softer now. He always looks like that when Jordan is in the room. It makes him feel special. "Aren't I a lucky boy." 

"Don't you forget it," Jordan says, patting Virgil's stomach as they board the bus. He successfully manages to avoid everyone's eyes as they shuffle to the back of the bus, where there's a few rows of empty seats. At this point, Jordan just wants to settle down - to think about anything else but the game. 

Virgil gets the window seat like always, temple resting against the cool glass, and he never complains when Jordan drops his head onto his shoulder. All he does is slide his fingers across the back of Jordan's neck - a comfort, _I'm here, with you_ and closes his eyes.

It's a long time before sleep comes, but Jordan's never felt as content in his life as he does when he's categorising all the things Virgil makes him feel.

Because underneath it all, the very vein of it is just pure love. Nothing else. That's all he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ [georginiwijnaldum](https://georginiwijnaldum.tumblr.com/) xo


End file.
